Los Gatos Weekly-Times

Nowadays, loose zippers sink ships

By Deborah Taylor-Hollis

Every time some new female comes forward from obscurity and denounces some senator/cabinet member/congressman/ president, I start to laugh like a hyena and then, wiping the tears from my cheeks, I ask, "Why? Why do they do this to themselves?"

I don't think any of these women know how to learn by example. And their moral compasses aren't too smartly aligned either.

To make a case for my reasoning, let's look back in time a bit--to World War II and the European theater of operations. Back then, a young American driver named Kay Sommersby reportedly began an illicit affair with the married general she drove around--Dwight Eisenhower.

Now, nobody condemns Ike for his loose zipper, and even today, nobody seems really bent on going after his mistress either. The reasons are many, but one of the most important and long-lasting is a vanished command from those times: Don't kiss and tell.

Kay knew he was married (just like the line of ladies we are now hearing about in the press) and knew that their "love affair" would last only so long as he was away from home and militant hearth-keeper Mamie. She had a wonderful time, became an important witness to history and then kept her mouth shut, not even confirming others' books about it until Mamie was dead and gone and saved from any embarrassment.

Now that's class. Even if Ike was an adulterer and couldn't be trusted, it apparently didn't dilute his military prowess, and his lack of morality certainly didn't keep him from being the leader of middle-class values in the '50s. Kay had some class. That's probably why she got the "position."

Now, we have a different scenario. And since it hasn't changed in 15 years, I would think bedfellows of powerful men would avoid opening their mouths to everyone about their affairs--after all, they can bet they will end up like their predecessors.

First we hear from an unnamed source that there is a liaison or illicit affair out there. Then word spreads until a "friend" of the woman mentions her first name. Journalists and lawyers scramble to find someone by that name who fits the profile of persons near the offending male, then try to contact her. The political party opposing that of the offender gets a good lawyer out to the woman free of charge and gives her name to the press along with "no comment."

The woman's story is immediately splashed all over the tabloids and in turn is reported in the legitimate press. Her friends and family split along party lines as to whether she is saint or sinner, and her background is run through a gristmill for other "tainted items." She and her new lawyer (paid for by some political group) begin dancing around any solid statement and avoiding the slings and arrows of outrageous subpoenas, talk shows and the entire crew of 60 Minutes.

She gets her hair done, moves to a better place and gets some plastic surgery and better clothes as her words become more important. Eventually, she testifies for someone--and the circus moves on.

Now, without an interested entourage, your heroine finds that the sleaze media will still court her, and each interview becomes less about the facts until she ends up posing for the big bucks of Playboy or Penthouse, doing a second-rate movie or trying to get a book deal.

Sometimes these women lose the husbands they have. Other times they gain husbands who are the most obvious media hogs to find them. You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can't...well, you know.

Eventually, they get their own talk shows somewhere, and their initial reason for stardom dims. They flounder in the larger public arena and end up no better off than when they pulled the covers off the issue way back when, only now they have reputations as sullied as porch mats, and their names are household fodder.

They get religion, lose a few pounds at the gym, try another media career--and drift forever. Not one goes back to get a Ph.D. and teach, joins a large congregation and ministers in South Africa or marries a millionaire and gets the cement swimmin' hole dream.

Given this scenario, I have to laugh. I guess they never learned the big commonsense truths in life. In the end, the mistress is never as good as the wife, history repeats itself, and don't follow the money unless you're a reporter--the people paying your freight are probably not your friends.

Meanwhile, the American public, understanding full well the scenario, licks its chops as it prepares to watch another "virgin" sacrifice herself on the volcano that is 20th-century politics. Hand me the marshmallows; I can already see the flames.

Deborah Taylor-Hollis is a freelance writer.

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